


A Mother's Work is Never Done

by Myrtle



Category: My Fair Lady (1964), Pygmalion - Shaw
Genre: Gen, background Eliza Doolittle/Freddy Eynsford Hill, hints of Henry Higgins/Colonel Pickering, implied Mrs. Higgins/Colonel Pickering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 11:43:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2810861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myrtle/pseuds/Myrtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it's all over, she must admit the whole arrangement is most untraditional. </p>
<p>Mrs. Higgins and Henry, through the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mother's Work is Never Done

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ephemeralblossom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralblossom/gifts).



> Hi Yuletide recipient! Thank you for the great prompt - Mrs. Higgins was a lot of fun to explore! I took some bits of canon from Shaw's epilogue to Pygmalion, I hope that's ok. Enjoy!!

_"When Higgins excused his indifference to young women on the ground that they had an irresistible rival in his mother, he gave the clue to his inveterate old-bachelordom. The case is uncommon only to the extent that remarkable mothers are uncommon. If an imaginative boy has a sufficiently rich mother who has intelligence, personal grace, dignity of character without harshness, and a cultivated sense of the best art of her time to enable her to make her house beautiful, she sets a standard for him against which very few women can struggle..."_

\- George Bernard Shaw, Epilogue to _Pygmalion_

 

* * *

  

The death of Mr. Higgins is not unexpected, not a great tragedy – he was a good deal older than Mrs. Higgins, had been ill for some time, and left her with a lovely home and a very comfortable income, with no shortage of servants to assist with the raising of their son. And yet, Mrs. Higgins must admit to a certain melancholy when he finally passes. She will miss him, for he was always a steadfast, respectful companion to her, and she regrets that little Henry never really got to spend much time with the man.

Henry, for his part, does not seem to be overly distraught at the loss. He has always been an odd boy, intellectually precocious and yet immature, prone to tantrums when he doesn’t get his way. Yet at the age of seven he is already reading the _Times_ every Sunday, peppering her with questions to be sure he understands everything, and so she does not hesitate to explain what has happened frankly. She sits him down on her knee, takes his hand, and says, “Your father is gone, Henry. He has passed on. Do you understand what that means?” 

Henry looks at her calmly. “It means he’s died?” 

“Yes, dear. He was an old man, and sick, and he will not be in pain now. We shall miss him very much, but we must carry on as best we can. We must keep our chins up.” 

And Henry, bless him, immediately sticks his little chin out, frowning down his nose at it. Mrs. Higgins chuckles at that and kisses him on the cheek. “Very good, dear. Now let’s go talk to Betsy and see if you have anything appropriate for the funeral.” She hoists him off her knee and they leave for his room hand-in-hand. 

Henry peers up at her. “Is it to be just you and me now, Mama?” 

“I suppose it is, dear,” she says. “But that will be alright, won’t it?”

He seems to consider it for a moment, and then says, “I think it will,” and gives her hand a squeeze, and she suspects he is right.

 

* * *

 

When Henry goes off to school, he keeps her updated with regular letters, which Mrs. Higgins must admit she finds a bit...distressing. Henry is doing enormously well, of course. Excellent marks, the top of his class, especially in English. But his letters seem to betray a certain dissatisfaction with his life, even with the world at large. He barely speaks of friends; when he mentions his fellow students it is only to complain about their failings, as people and as scholars.  

Mrs. Higgins has always known that her son has exacting standards - after all, where did he learn them, if not from her? She has certainly taught him to expect nothing but the best, from others and from himself - but there is something disconcerting about seeing those standards applied so harshly through his letters. Perhaps it is just because she is only seeing one side of him in written form. Perhaps he only writes to her when he is frustrated; perhaps he has no one to complain to at school, and must take it all out on her (somehow, she doubts that Henry is truly not complaining to anyone at school. But it's a thought). Perhaps she is just missing all his good qualities because she is not seeing him in person - his wit, his curiosity, his devotion to her. And yet, she does feel the need to placate him in her responses. So she fills her letters with advice, telling him to be more patient, more compassionate to his peers' struggles, to remember that he is not infallible, to open himself up to friendship and fellowship. Of course, she fully expects him to do what any young man does with advice from his mother - read it, denounce all of it in his head, and promptly ignore it. But at least she tries.  

When Henry comes home to visit, she is of course delighted to have her son again, but she can tell that her fears were not unfounded. Intellectually, he has certainly matured, and she is pleased to see his interest in language and phonetics becoming a serious devotion to their study, but personally, he is changing, or perhaps it's just that she is noticing certain aspects of his character more after being separated from him. He has not really matured; he seems to be, if anything, more petulant and temperamental than he was as a child. It turns out that his constant complaints about the unworthiness of his fellow students were not confined to his letters; everything seems to dissatisfy him in some way. In a sense Mrs. Higgins can see that it's a good thing for him to always be wanting better, but it does grow rather tiresome. And he has not picked up many social skills from living with his peers; his small talk and manners are still quite abysmal, though he can ramble on about a topic that interests him until he's blue.  

Mrs. Higgins comforts herself with the fact that so many of the great men of history were reportedly impossible to deal with on a personal level, and for the same reasons as Henry - demanding, petty, irritable, scornful of social niceties. Maybe this is a sign that her son is going to be a great man, a genius. She replaces images in her mind of a lovely home full of happy grandchildren with images of Henry toiling alone in his study and conferences of men awarding him great accolades. If he is to be a solitary genius, she can accept that, even embrace it. After all, in that case he will need his mother all the more. 

 

* * *

 

Mrs. Higgins is enjoying her evening tea and replying to a letter from Lady Boxington when she hears footsteps coming down the hall, far too heavy to be the maid or the butler, and an irritated muttering that she can’t possibly mistake. _And what was wrong with this one?_ she wonders. _I suppose I shall find out soon enough._  

Henry comes into the parlor like an annoyed squall. He flings his scarf and hat at the rack, and either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care when they miss by a good foot and settle in a small heap on the floor. 

Mrs. Higgins has the most wicked urge to ignore him utterly and continue with her letter, but she has never been able to actually resist her boy when he is upset. Instead she opts for pleasantry, in the (vain, she knows) hope that she can avoid yet another rant on the deficiencies of womankind.

“Good evening, dear. You’re home rather earlier than I expected. Did you not go for a coffee after the performance? Was Miss Turnham not feeling well?” 

“Miss Turnham,” Henry declares, struggling with his coat, “was feeling perfectly fine. It was I who was sick – _made_ sick, by her, her…utter insipidity, her entire lack of an original thought in her head--”

“Honestly, Henry,” she interrupts, “you ought not to talk about ladies this way. Miss Turnham is a fine young woman, perfectly charming and intelligent in my experience, educated--” 

“Oh, I know she is educated, in her way,” Henry replies, still tangled up in the coat. The collar appears to be caught on his cufflink, and he is twirling about, trying to see the problem as he rants. “In her woman’s arts – I’m sure she can instruct servants and embroider with the best of them. But what does she know of the real arts, of literature, of architecture, let alone the fine pursuits of linguistics and phonetics, which I--” 

At this point Henry is in danger of twirling himself right into her best chair, a fine piece in the Elizabethan style, and she must intervene. “Yes, yes, dear, I know, no one can match you for devotion to the great art of phonetics. But I simply cannot watch you do battle with that coat for a moment longer.” She crosses to him, and in no time has the loose thread on the coat untangled from the cufflink, and the coat is safely off. Henry looks at the floor, and for a moment he is the embarrassed five-year-old who couldn’t do up his shoe buttons. “Honestly, Henry, I don’t know how you expect any woman to find you worthwhile when you can’t even undress yourself properly.” 

“That is precisely my point, Mother!” Henry says, resuming his complaints with great energy. “This preoccupation with clothing and frivolities. Do you know what Miss Turnham’s favorite topic of discussion was? Her new hat. Well, what could I possibly contribute to that conversation? It was a hat. It had a feather in it. What else is there to say? And yet she had not one intelligent thought on anything I attempted to discuss, on Milton, on Wagner--”

“Well, you cannot expect every woman to have fully developed opinions on things she may or may not ever encounter in her daily life,” Mrs. Higgins says as she hangs Henry’s coat on the rack, and picks up the hat and scarf, wondering if she will ever be done picking up after her son. “You must remember, a woman’s life is largely confined to the home, her family and her friends, and even educated women are not often exposed to intellectual pursuits.” 

Henry throws himself down dejectedly on the sofa. “But _you_ are, Mother. You and I can have an intelligent conversation on nearly any topic, you are never frivolous, and your taste is impeccable. Why can’t the eligible young ladies be more like you? Forgive my saying so, but I would happily court a young woman who shared your intellect and attitudes.” 

Mrs. Higgins can’t help laughing and feeling a bit of pride at that. “Well, dear, if those are your criteria I admit you may very well have to keep looking.” 

“No, Mother,” Henry says, suddenly sitting up with a determined look in his eye. “I shan’t keep looking. I have been thinking it over, and there is no point in it. How many women have I taken out, and have I gotten any pleasure from any of them? None. Why should I keep subjecting myself to this tedium, when I am perfectly content on my own? Perhaps one day I will stumble upon a woman who appeals to me, but tonight was the last of my attempts to search for one.” This entire speech sounds rather prepared, and when he is done Henry looks altogether too pleased with himself for having finally spoken his mind. 

_Oh dear, now I shall never be rid of him._ “Henry, I cannot force you to marry. And I cannot say I am entirely surprised by your…difficulties with women. You are, frankly, not the most charming of gentlemen, intelligent and upstanding though you may be. If you want to remain a bachelor, that is your choice. But you are nearing thirty, and at some point you must gain some independence. You cannot cling to your mother’s skirts forever.” 

Henry stands at that and begins pacing, indignant. “I do not _cling,_ Mother! You are right of course, there is no reason I should remain here at this stage. There is no reason I cannot take a flat, or even a house. My income is sufficient. I should like to have my own space. Yes, a place of my own…a splendid idea. Why, I can begin looking tomorrow. I shall miss you, of course, but do not worry, I will be sure to visit often.”

Mrs. Higgins rises and crosses to take his arm. “I know you will. I think that sounds excellent, dear. And I’m sure I’ll be able to muddle on without you.” Henry does not catch the sarcasm, of course. He only smiles, satisfied with his new plan. “And now, it is entirely too late for an old woman like myself. I think I must retire.”

“Yes, I’ll be off to bed myself. Good night, Mother. And don’t worry – I may yet marry, some day.” He leans in and kisses her cheek. 

“Oh, I doubt it, dear. But no matter. Good night.”

As she gathers up her correspondence and leaves, she cannot help smiling at the knowledge that her son will soon be on his own. She has been planning the redecoration of his room for _years._

 

* * *

  

Mrs. Higgins is an old woman when her son’s life—and hers, by extension—finally begins to take its final shape. She does not wish for much excitement at this stage, she really needs nothing more than her correspondence and her reading, the upkeep of her home and the occasional outing with her old friends. She is quite used to Henry’s bachelordom and expects nothing from him but a life of intellectual accomplishment in his temple to phonetics in Wimpole Street. But their quiet stasis is disturbed by the arrival of two rather enchanting figures – Colonel Pickering and Miss Eliza Doolittle. 

She meets Pickering shortly after Henry does, as he is soon accompanying Henry on every outing. She is quite charmed by the gentleman, with his kindness and wit, and she especially appreciates how he enlivens any visit with Henry. After Henry’s father’s death, she never felt a need to seek out a second husband, but she might have considered the Colonel as a companion in her old age – were it not for his utter devotion to Henry. She could not bring herself to interrupt in any way the changes she sees in her son – he is more vital, more curious, and almost, dare she say it, _pleasant_ in a way he hasn’t been since he was a young man who still believed he could singlehandedly reform the English language. 

In any case, she and the Colonel share many a delightful conversation, with or without Henry’s input. It never occurs to her to question why the Colonel is staying at Wimpole Street, what on Earth is occupying his and Henry’s time there, though evidently she should have, for it turns out they have undertaken a totally absurd project.

But despite the insanity of her presence in their lives, Eliza does turn out to be quite an extraordinary creature. Even when Mrs. Higgins first encounters her at Ascot, when she is _far_ from completing her transformation, she seems to have some natural grace, and a thin veneer of class that covers the baseness of her core – but when that core breaks through, there is something enchanting about it. Mrs. Higgins ought to be scandalized by Eliza’s claims of alcoholic aunts and murder for a straw hat, and certainly by her profane screaming during the race, but she finds it all rather exciting. She can quite understand young Mr. Eynsford Hill’s enchantment with the girl.    

And at the Embassy Ball…well, at the ball she is the most extraordinary woman Mrs. Higgins has ever seen. She seems to float above the others, in her own magical world, and though Mrs. Higgins is watching her closely she cannot spot a single flaw or tremor of nerves. She and Pickering end up spending most of the evening standing together, unable to tear their eyes from Eliza.

 

* * *

 

The morning after the ball, Mrs. Higgins is finishing her breakfast when Alice comes in, looking rather distressed. “Ma’am, Miss Doolittle is here to see you. I’m sorry, ma’am, I told her it was very early, but she begged, and, well--” 

“Miss Doolittle? Unaccompanied? I wonder what she can possibly be doing here. Well, she’s always welcome, show her in at once.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

When Eliza comes in a moment later, Mrs. Higgins is shocked. The girl is carrying a suitcase, wisps of hair are escaping from her hat, and she is clearly near tears. She addresses her with her eyes on the floor, and her voice shakes. “Mrs. Higgins, I’m terribly sorry to bother you, I just couldn’t think of where else to go, I couldn’t possibly go home with Freddy, and I--” 

“Nonsense, my girl, you know it’s always a delight to have you here.” She goes to take Eliza’s hands. “Now tell me, what on Earth is the matter? It’s my son, isn’t it? Oh, what indignity has that buffoon subjected you to?”

Eliza tries to reply, but her voice deserts her, and when Mrs. Higgins embraces her, she descends into sobs in her arms. “There, there, I suppose you can’t tell it just now, that’s alright. Why don’t you take some time to clean up, get changed – I hope you have at least one fresh dress stuffed in that tiny suitcase – and then we’ll sit down and have some nice tea, and you can tell me all about it. Go down the hall there and Alice will set you up in the guest room.” 

Eliza recovers her voice enough to thank her profusely as she leaves, and Mrs. Higgins settles back in with the remnants of her breakfast, wondering what new foolishness Henry is about to foist on her.

 

* * *

 

When it’s all over, she must admit the whole arrangement is most untraditional. Though Eliza had ranted and raved about how she wanted nothing more to do with Professor Henry Higgins, and had finally stood up to him and brought him low (and seeing her son utterly stymied by Eliza’s departure was rather a treat for Mrs. Higgins), it’s no more than a few hours until Henry rings her to triumphantly inform her that Eliza is back. She is partly glad, partly disappointed, but not truly surprised. Though Henry is off-putting to most and has caused strain in many of her friendships, there is something (it cannot be just his intellect, can it? Perhaps it is the rarity of his kindness, combined with his childlike bumbling, that makes one just feel compelled to help him) that makes him strangely irresistible to a select few people – namely, herself, the Colonel, his long-suffering housekeeper Mrs. Pearce, and, evidently, Eliza.

Of course, both Henry and Eliza are quick to assure her that Eliza’s return is not due to any romantic interest from either of them, not that she would have expected or encouraged that. In fact, the status of Eliza’s continued residence at Wimpole Street is somewhat mysterious. She certainly isn’t a servant, though she does seem to receive money from either Henry or the Colonel with some regularity. She is no longer officially Henry’s student, though really he will never stop trying to mold her. She seems to just be a sort of permanent fixture in Henry’s life and home, on whatever terms work for them. 

In the same vein, Mrs. Higgins is not entirely sure why the Colonel remains at Wimpole Street either. Surely he has business or studies he could be pursuing in India, but he now has a whole life here with Henry, which he does not seem likely to abandon any time soon. And Mrs. Higgins is glad of it – he has become a great friend to her, and anyway he seems to be a necessary buffer between Henry and Eliza.

 

* * *

 

Perhaps two months after the ball, Mrs. Higgins is once again interrupted by a surprise visitor from Wimpole Street - this time, her son. Since the Colonel and Eliza entered his life, Henry had stopped his impulsive, impetuous visits, instead paying proper social calls with his companions, but now he is as unaccompanied and distressed as ever. He barely pauses to glance a peck on her cheek as he storms into the room. If he had any outerwear, it would surely be flung on random furniture, but as it is warm out he has to settle for flinging himself into a chair and propping his feet on the coffee table, to her horror. 

“Henry! This is not a barn. Get your feet off that table at once. And I suppose I don’t need to ask you what’s wrong, you’re going to tell me either way.”

Henry takes his feet off the table and leans forward on his knees, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “She’s getting married,” he mutters. 

“Who, Eliza? Well, good for her.” _It’s about time,_ she thinks. “Who’s the lucky gentleman?”

“He is barely a gentleman, and I wouldn’t say he’s lucky,” Henry says. He pauses, then delivers the name with distaste: _“Freddy.”_

Without thinking, Mrs. Higgins laughs aloud. “Dear Mr. Eynsford Hill! Well, he does quite worship her. And he is comely, and from a good family, if rather down-at-the-heels.” 

“Blast his family!” Henry declares, rising to his feet and beginning to pace. “The boy is an idiot, utterly useless. What use will he be to her? What will they talk about? He hasn’t got a coherent idea in his head, all he does is gape at her like a lovestruck fish.”

“Oh, Henry. Why must you only think of what _use_ people will be to each other? Has it never occurred to you that two people may marry simply because they enjoy each other’s company, they make each other happy?” 

“But they _don’t_ make each other happy, they couldn’t possibly. How happy will she be in a year’s time, when she’s reduced to poverty again, only this time it will be all the worse because he will insist on trying to keep up a semblance of appearances? He hasn’t got any income or career prospects, and yet he thinks he is still a member of society. And damn and blast her if she still thinks she can teach phonetics! She hasn’t the slightest idea of my methods, it would be a farce, a tragedy! The whole thing is absurd!” 

Mrs. Higgins has been making a valiant effort to ignore all this in favor of her embroidery, but she can’t resist teasing him a bit. “Really Henry, why are you invested in the girl’s economic future? Why are you so invested in her at all?” She feigns a moment of realization, laying down her embroidery. “You can’t possibly have been thinking of marrying her yourself, can you? If you were, it seems you should have made your move earlier.”

Henry rounds on her at that. “Don’t be absurd, Mother,” he says with scorn. “You know I’ve never had any interest in Eliza except as a sociological experiment. It’s perfectly natural that after the time and effort I’ve invested in her, I should take an interest in her future. I only want her to end up with someone worthy of her, of the person I have made her into. And I have certainly created a lady far too accomplished for the likes of Freddy Eynsford Hill.” 

“He may not be the most...intellectual boy, I’ll grant you that. But then I haven’t spent much time with the two of them together. What does the Colonel think of all this?” 

Henry waves a hand in annoyance. “Oh, he’s no help at all. Keeps congratulating her, and shaking his hand, then turning around and laughing with me whenever Freddy says something absurd. Evidently he’s happy to pretend it's going to work out.” 

“Well, it seems it is going to happen regardless of what you think, so you’d best buck up and accept it. You’re the one who wanted to create a woman of class and spirit - of course that means she will defy your wishes sometimes. And if it turns out you are right and she and Freddy make a terrible match, well, at least you will get to bask in your self-righteousness.”

Henry gives her a dry smile at that. “Quite right. You do know me too well, Mother.” 

“Yes, dear. And now I must insist that you leave me - I have Mrs. Grafton coming round for tea, and you know how badly the two of you get on. Really darling, you’ve got to stop bursting in on me like this, it throws the servants all into a tizzy. Alice ought to be in here setting up for tea by now, I expect she’s avoiding you.” 

“Alright Mother, I’ll apologize to her on my way out. I may not see you until the wedding - it seems it will be some terrible, hastily thrown together affair. I’ll see that you’re seated next to Pickering.”

“Oh, I should quite like that. Goodbye, darling.”  

 

* * *

 

The wedding, though thrown-together indeed, still manages to be a rather lovely affair. Eliza is simply stunning, and Freddy displays such absolute joy the whole day that Mrs. Higgins can’t help but be happy for them. Henry, under strict instructions from her to be on his best behavior, manages to act graciously in the couple’s presence, saving his scowls for when they can’t see. Mr. Doolittle somehow worms his way into their table, and she and Pickering have a great deal of fun smirking at each other as Alfred enjoys his wine and his pontificating gets more and more ridiculous. 

Mrs. Higgins is surprised to learn that Eliza will be staying on at Wimpole Street, with Freddy moving in. Though on reflection, it makes sense - with no income and no prospects, where would they go? And it seems Henry’s residence is quite difficult to escape once you’ve become devoted to him. Speaking of which, Mrs. Higgins finds herself spending more and more time there. Despite her mocking of Henry’s concern about Eliza’s future, she feels a strange need to keep an eye on the young couple. Certainly the two bachelors have no advice to offer on the subject of marital success. The couple does seem to be rather happy with each other, though Freddy is quite useless as a man, if not as a husband. At least he is utterly devoted to Eliza, and Eliza is indulgent of his foolishness.

The great problem of their lives is what they shall do for money. Freddy feels himself to be above any sort of clerk position, and is sadly unqualified for anything better. Henry is still violently opposed to any suggestion of Eliza teaching phonetics, and Pickering actually agrees with him in more reasonable terms, and Eliza seems to be unwilling to go against both of their wishes in this. Eventually the Colonel reminds Eliza of her original idea of opening a flower shop, and finally, at an utter loss for anything else to do, the Eynsford Hills attempt this path. 

After a rather embarrassing period in which they learn that financial skills are in fact required to run a business, Eliza and Freddy devote themselves to the study of economics with intermittent success. They also hire a bookkeeper and assistant with shop experience, and it is this, combined with both of their natural charm as salespeople, that finally allows the business to thrive. (Of course, it helps that Mrs. Higgins instructs her staff to make all their flower purchases from the shop, and encourages her friends to do the same.) 

By the time the flower shop is profitable, Mrs. Higgins is growing old, and rather weary of rattling around in her big old house. And so it makes perfect sense that she proposes a switch of residences - she will be much happier at Wimpole Street, close to her son and her dear friend, and she will be happy for the Higgins home to pass to Eliza and Freddy, who would surely like to have a space of their own by now. Eliza accepts gladly, though even after the move, she still spends a remarkable amount of time at Wimpole Street, finding one excuse or another to check in on them, borrow something, return something, or eventually, simply visit with no pretenses. Pickering, of course, shows no sign of leaving, and Mrs. Higgins passes many a happy day in conversation with him. 

One afternoon, they are all gathered in the parlor after tea. Eliza is directing Freddy in clearing the dishes, which will no doubt only create more work for poor Mrs. Pearce, but no matter - Eliza has never quite gotten used to having servants, and it gives her pleasure to order her husband about. Mrs. Higgins and Pickering are at the piano, where he is attempting to recreate some melody from his youth in his rather weak singing voice, much to her amusement. Henry, of course, is hunched over some charts of American dialects or some such, utterly ignoring their fun. 

“Henry, dear,” she calls out, amidst hoots of laughter. “It’s a lovely day, do put that work away and join us. Honestly, you can be such a bore to live with.” 

Henry lays down his pen but does not leave his desk. “Might I remind you, Mother, that this work is what allows me to keep this household running. Have you paid any attention to Mr. Doolittle’s moral pronouncements? One of his favorites is that if you’re lucky, your children will end up supporting you. Perhaps you could show a little gratitude at your good fortune in that area.” 

“His advice does seem to be everywhere these days,” Pickering puts in. “Why, just yesterday I was accosted by a young man on the street hawking a pamphlet full of it. Perhaps there’s something to it.” 

Mrs. Higgins smiles. “Well, I’ve never put much stock in luck. But if I’m to live out my days supported by my son and surrounded by dear friends, I suppose I should count myself very lucky indeed.”

 


End file.
